Solis

by Kat Ross

  “Thanks for that image.”

  Victor paused. “I’m thinking of Culach.”

  Mithre laughed. “He might have helped you tame the abbadax, but you’re mad if you think he’ll turn on all the other holdfasts. He’s a Valkirin through and through.”

  “Leave Culach to me. You take Galen and five or six others. Seal those tunnels.” He turned to Galen. “You said you wanted to help? Well, start now. You’re a Dessarian. You shouldn’t break more than a rib or two bringing the mountain down.”

  Galen gave his father a feeble smile. He followed Mithre into the holdfast with leaden feet, watched him shout orders and assign them various tunnels, all the while half-wishing he was back in chains.

  “Fill it completely, end to end,” Mithre told him. “We can’t take a chance they’ll dig a way through.”

  And so he found himself standing alone in a narrow passage deep beneath the holdfast, the distant thunder of collapsing rock echoing in his ears as the other Danai followed Mithre’s instructions.

  You should have told them. Admitted you couldn’t do it.

  But he could picture the expression on Victor’s face. His father would think he was lying, or worse, he would accept it as truth. That Galen was weak as a day-old kitten.

  He closed his eyes. Maybe this time would be different. He found the Nexus with no trouble. But when he reached for earth, it was like trying to push a boulder with one toe—uphill. Galen’s teeth gritted with strain. He managed to shake a few rocks down, just enough to cover the tunnel mouth. But beyond that, it was wide open.

  “How’d it go?” Mithre asked in an almost friendly tone when Galen returned to their meeting point.

  Galen swallowed. I should tell him. Let someone else seal it properly.

  “Just fine,” he said. “End to end.”

  Gerda sat on the edge of her chamber, bare feet dangling over the void. She kept her shield far enough out that she could enjoy the leagues of open air above and below. With any luck, one of the Dessarians might wander too close to the edge one day and find a nasty surprise.

  Culach hadn’t returned after being hauled from her chamber, but neither had she been summoned by the idiot. She wondered what Culach had told them. Not that he knew anything useful. She’d hoped his visions might reveal the fate of the Vatras after the sundering; the distant past held little of interest.

  Still, the boy had confirmed one thing. She knew the Gambler wasn’t King Gaius. His eyes were not pale at all, but dark as the tides. When Gerda was young, she’d found a very rare gem called a spinelstone in one of the abandoned mineshafts. It was dusty and dull, but she’d rubbed it on her dress and slipped it into a pocket. She’d forgotten clean about it until she was undressing for bed that night, when she’d felt the lump and taken it out again. She’d no idea how valuable it was until much later. But when the starlight struck it, the gem turned a deep blue color, nearly black, that seemed to hold the secrets of the cosmos in its depths. The Gambler’s eyes were that very shade.

  And he bore no resemblance to the other Culach had mentioned…Farrumohr. The Gambler had red hair, but it was long and worn in a horsetail. And he was not fox-faced. In fact, Gerda thought him rather dashing.

  She swung her legs around and stood, then retrieved the globe from its hiding place. Culach’s nightmares made the boy skittish, but he’d come around to her way of thinking eventually. Still, it was best to keep the globe a secret for now. She didn’t trust him not to blab everything to the idiot.

  Perhaps it’s time to show myself.

  Gerda called to air and let the talisman seek out the Gambler. The view inside the globe raced across the heaving, white-capped sea until a dark coastline appeared. It swooped toward a narrow peninsula dotted with stone houses. The largest had three floors and a battered, faded sign with a picture of a small grey cat. Without pause, it entered the window of an upstairs room.

  The Gambler was there, bent over a leather travel bag. He seemed to be readying for a journey.

  Gerda let the globe take her closer, until it was as though she stood directly behind him. He wore a roughspun shirt and tight knee-length trousers. The lines of his back stiffened. He froze, then turned and stared straight at her, a considering look on his face.

  Gerda wondered if he truly saw her or only sensed her presence. She leaned so close her nose brushed the glass. The Gambler playfully stroked his chin, as if deciding whether to give a child a sweet. He reached into the bag and took out his own globe.

  Gerda’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead as he held it up and blew softly. The runes of both globes glowed in unison. His lips moved and a voice spoke inside her head, rich and amused.

  “We meet at last, watcher in the tower.” The Gambler gave her a courtly bow. “I do hope you haven’t been spying on me in the bath as well? Or when I entertain certain ladies in my room?” He laughed. “That would be too naughty of you.”

  Gerda opened her mouth, then shut it again with a snap. For the first time in her very long life, she was speechless.

  19

  The Fourth Element

  It took a week for Charis’s fever to subside. With gold from Kallisto, Nazafareen bought herself a new sword, a fine one with a leather scabbard chased in silver. If the Valkirins found her before they reached Susa, she knew she could snap the flows of power they used against her, but she still felt safer having it.

  Not all our enemies wield magic. And I won’t use my own lightly.

  Nazafareen slipped down the stairs to the common room, where she found Javid waiting at a table with an untouched mug of wine before him.

  “So you leave tomorrow?” he said.

  “Kallisto has gone to buy horses.” Nazafareen held up a tattered sleeve and smiled ruefully. “She gave me some coins to buy a new set of clothes. I thought perhaps you could show me where to go.”

  He grinned. “We’ll have you looking like a princess from Tjanjin.”

  Nazafareen kicked him. “I was thinking of something comfortable for travel.”

  Javid held his palms up in surrender. “I know just the place.”

  They strolled through the curving streets, past shops with colorful awnings and hawkers crouched over charcoal grills with sizzling chunks of lamb. The smell of cooking mingled with animal dung and incense wafting from the magi’s sacred fire altars. Samarqand had been designed in concentric circles around the Rock of Ariamazes, which rose above the low buildings like a small mountain. Nazafareen squinted at the pall of haze on the eastern horizon.

  “What is that? A fire?”

  “The blacksmith’s quarter. They run the forges night and day, refining the raw ore from the Valkirins’ mountains. Some of it is used here, by artisans and to make weapons for the king’s armory. The Marakai buy the rest and sell it to Tjanjin, or back to the daēvas. The Valkirins are mad for metal, but they can’t work it themselves.” He shrugged. “It’s hard, dirty work. I’d rather be one of the king’s serving boys than a blacksmith, though that’s hard, dirty work too.”

  Nazafareen shot him a sideways glance. She’d become wiser in the ways of the world since they’d first met.

  “He doesn’t sound very nice, your king.”

  “Why? Because he likes boys?”

  She frowned in puzzlement. What did such a preference have to do with anything?

  “No, because he forces them.”

  Javid shrugged again. “He’s the king.”

  “That still doesn’t give him the right.”

  Javid gave her a crooked grin. “Perhaps not. But trust me, he’s paying for his indulgences as we speak.” He lowered his voice. “Cambyses hasn’t left his chambers in a fortnight. My boss says we’ll have a new king before Artemis returns.”

  “Why—”

  “Best not to discuss politics in public,” Javid said firmly, guiding her to a small shop with fabrics displayed in the window. “We’ll try Baraz first. He charges too much, but his embroidery is very fine.”

  N
azafareen wanted to know why King Cambyses was dying, but Javid had already dragged her inside and was chatting with the shopkeeper, a short, rotund man with a long, droopy mustache and rings on his fingers. She spotted a pair of red leather boots whose soles were decorated on the underside with a beautiful, intricate pattern.

  “How much are these?”

  “Ah!” Baraz beamed. “A fine choice.” He went on at length about the quality of the leather and precision of the seams until Javid cut him off.

  “I’ll give you ten siglos.”

  Baraz laughed heartily. “Two darics, but only because you’re an old friend.”

  “Two darics? You must be mad.” Javid picked up a boot and scowled at the lacing up the front. “These were in fashion a decade ago. I can see a layer of dust.”

  “One daric, five siglos.”

  “Twelve siglos.”

  “Fifteen.”

  Javid sighed. “Fourteen. And it’s still twice what they’re worth.” He yawned. “Perhaps we should try Faridoon’s. He’s just around the corner….”

  “Faridoon! Pah. He’s unfit to shod a horse. Fine, fourteen siglos. But I expect a discount next time I take a wind ship to Susa.”

  “Done.” He looked at Nazafareen. “She’s needs some new clothes too.”

  Baraz looked her up and down with a tailor’s eye. “Come this way, my dear,” he said, heading to the rear of the shop.

  He showed her a number of multi-layered gowns with fancy trim and long, pointed sleeves. Nazafareen eyed them doubtfully. How could she run or fight in those?

  “I’d think I’d prefer a plain tunic and trousers,” she said firmly.

  Baraz looked scandalized. “But you are a woman.”

  Nazafareen stuck her chin out. “So?”

  “It is simply not done!”

  “Thanks for the boots then,” Javid said with a polite smile. “We’ll just head over to Faridoon’s.” He started for the door. After a moment’s hesitation, Nazafareen followed. Baraz wrung his hands in distress.

  “Wait!” he cried. “There’s no need to resort to that purveyor of grain sacks. If the young lady prefers masculine attire, Baraz would be pleased to accommodate.”

  In the end, she bought three pairs of soft trousers, four tunics and a belted coat in a bold red and black checkered pattern that matched her new boots. Nazafareen would have simply paid what the shopkeeper asked since he’d been nice about it, but Javid insisted on haggling ruthlessly over every item.

  “Ah, country bumpkin,” he said as they strolled back to the Four Dervishes. “If you think Baraz was disturbed by your choice in clothing, he would be beside himself if you’d simply paid the asking price. The man lives to negotiate.”

  When they reached the inn, Javid handed her the packages. They stood awkwardly for a moment.

  “I suppose it’s goodbye,” he said. “Believe it or not, I’m glad I met you.” He laughed. “It’s been…quite an adventure.”

  “It has.”

  She studied his face, feeling foolishly on the verge of tears. “I hope our paths cross again someday, silly man.”

  “I’m sure they will. You know where to find me.”

  He nodded and turned to go.

  “Oh, Javid!” Nazafareen exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight.

  Her eyes widened a fraction as his chest pressed against hers. Nazafareen drew back. Their eyes met. Hers searching, his wary and tense.

  “Ask your friend if he wishes to come out with us tonight!”

  They both turned to the doorway of the inn. The Maenads sprawled at a table inside, nursing cups of wine.

  “It’s our last night in Samarqand,” Rhea called. “Since Charis can hobble around, we plan to have some fun.”

  Nazafareen raised an eyebrow at Javid.

  “I promised my boss I’d stay out of trouble,” he said after a moment. “And frankly, they look like trouble.”

  Nazafareen nodded. “He has other business,” she called back.

  She gave Javid a small smile. The guarded look in his eyes faded as he smiled back.

  “Stay safe, country bumpkin.”

  Nazafareen watched him walk away. He was a woman. But a man too. That explained why he didn’t like to take his coat off. She felt a little hurt he hadn’t told her, but then why should he? It was no one’s business. And she understood the necessity of keeping secrets.

  Nazafareen went into the inn and sat with the Maenads for a while. They were in high spirits about the journey ahead. None had ever left Delphi before. Now they would be sailing for the darklands, the Isles of the Marakai, to seek out the famous Sakhet-ra-katme. For a thousand years, their order had waited to be called into service. And these four were the ones to receive the summons.

  “Come out with us, Nazafareen,” Cyrene entreated. “We’ll find some pretty boys,” she winked at Rhea, who flushed, “or girls. You’re far too serious. Live a little.”

  Nazafareen considered keeping them company, but she wasn’t in the mood. Knowing they would leave the next day had turned her thoughts to Darius again. She yearned for news of House Dessarian. If the Valkirins hunted her to Delphi, they must know she was no longer there. They would leave the Danai in peace. Except that Galen had killed their kinsman. Suddenly, she felt sick with worry.

  “I have a headache,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry. I think I’ll just go to my room and lie down for a while.”

  The Maenads gave her sympathetic pats and promised to check on her later.

  Nazafareen climbed the narrow staircase to the top floor. She poured water into a basin and washed her hair with an herbal concoction Rhea had procured at the market. The rinsewater came out grey from dye, so she washed it twice more until it ran clear. Nazafareen had no mirror but an examination of the ends showed her hair was nearly back to its normal color, though perhaps a shade or two darker.

  Then she tried on her new clothes. Baraz had chosen well. Everything fit perfectly. Samarqand was even hotter than Delphi, the air dry as dust, so she propped the door open in hopes of catching a stray breeze. Then she sat on the floor to let her hair dry in the sun.

  The window faced west, toward the desert that began not far from the city walls. Somewhere out there lay the Kiln and the line of storms that penned the Vatras—if they still lived. She trusted Kallisto, but a small part of Nazafareen still wondered if her visions were true. How could the Vatras possibly escape?

  Her own problems were more real. Sakhet-ra-Katme might be able to cure her amnesia, but she might not. Then she would be right back where she’d started.

  “Nazafareen.”

  She looked up. Darius stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. His face was pale and his wavy brown hair stood out every which way. In truth, he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He wore a rumpled too-large brown coat and dusty boots. She’d almost forgotten that feral quality in his blue eyes, how unnerving it could be. Her heart ached at the sight of him. She’d hardly dared to hope.

  “Darius!” Nazafareen leapt to her feet, grinning ear to ear. She wanted to hug him but something in his face made her afraid to. He didn’t smile back.

  “I found you,” he said, a note of disbelief in his voice.

  “I planned to return eventually,” she said hastily, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. He seemed poised on the brink of something and she feared it was anger. “But first I must go to the Marakai. We leave tomorrow.”

  “Another day and we’d have missed each other again,” he said with a laugh, though it sounded forced.

  “Again?”

  “I came to Delphi.”

  “Then it was you asking for me at the Library! I suspected, but I couldn’t be sure. And then everyone was looking for me, all the Polemarch’s men….” She seized his hand and tugged him forward. “Sit down, you look exhausted.” Nazafareen glanced around the tiny room, suddenly awkward. “You can have the bed. I’ll sit on the floor.”

  He let he
r pull him to the bed. She resumed her cross-legged seat and peered up at him.

  “Tell me everything. When did you get to Delphi?”

  A shadow crossed his face and her smile faltered.

  “When, Darius?”

  “Not so long ago.”

  “And how did you find me?”

  He held up his right arm. The griffin cuff circled his wrist.

  “The cuff bonded me when I arrived in Solis. I was able to sense its mate.” His eyes roved around the room. “You must have yours somewhere.”

  Nazafareen withdrew the leather pouch from her tunic and lifted it over her head.

  “It’s in here.” She frowned. “Why do you hide your left arm? Are you hurt?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She sighed and leaned forward, tugging his sleeve up before he could pull back. Nazafareen gasped. His skin was a sickly grey, the hand a withered claw.

  “What did that to you?”

  He held her gaze. “It’s a side effect of the bond.”

  “Take it off then.” Nazafareen felt sick. “Take it off!” She tugged at the cuff but he gently removed her hand.

  “I don’t wish to.”

  “Why? If it maims you so?”

  He was quiet for a long moment, studying her intently.

  “If I asked you to wear your cuff again, would you do it?”

  Nazafareen’s heart beat faster. “I…would it do the same to me?”

  “No. Only the daēva.”

  “What will happen if I do?”

  “We’ll be bonded again.”

  “I don’t even know what that means!” Nazafareen was suddenly furious. “You won’t tell me anything, Darius. You hold the keys to my memories and you withhold them from me. That is why I left you behind.”

  The hurt on his face was plain. “You don’t trust me.”

  “I do trust you. I just…. You have no right to keep what happened between us from me. Tethys said the Marakai might be able to heal the damage to my mind. I planned to seek them out before….” She trailed off.